


This Altmer stands with Skyrim

by Selkies_song



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dawnguard DLC, Fluff, Hearthfire DLC, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkies_song/pseuds/Selkies_song
Summary: Chandler thought the war was ridiculous from the start. Even as an Altmer, he felt the Dominion was out of bounds by getting involved with Nordic concerns. When he's nearly executed for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, he decides to play the part he's already been accused of and joins in the fight for Skyrim's freedom against the Thalmor.Between surviving dragon attacks and getting swept up in dozens of other conflicts, that is.AKA: A series of brief, self-indulgent oneshots (non-consecutive) based on my latest Skyrim play through. More chapters added when and if the inspiration strikes. Most will probably involve DB/Farkas fluff.





	1. Backstabbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chandler seeks comfort after a dangerous betrayal [Thieves' Guild Questline]

There was a jolt of pain the moment the door opened; he'd barely registered it before numbness swept through his entire body, and he was left to fall to the ground as if he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. It became difficult even to breathe, and a green fog shrouded his vision. He saw the murky figure of Mercer pass just in front of him, seeming entirely too calm. The man had a smart mouth and little patience, but surely even he would feel some sort of alarm at a fellow’s plight?

Darkness crowded in, and he felt himself slipping into it despite his best efforts. He couldn't be sure that he would wake up again if he lost consciousness now. 

“-o you honestly think -our arrow will reac- -- before my blade fi--- your --art?“

"Gi-- -- a reason -- try.”

The voices drifted just on the edge of his consciousness. It was a struggle to think, but he latched onto it, tugging himself back into awareness by trying to focus on the conversation he was overhearing. 

Slowly he recognized Mercer, and a much softer, silkier, feminine voice. _'Karliah,'_ he thought; the traitorous ex-guild member whom they had come to confront. 

Chandler fought to open his eyes; he could only manage to part his eyelids by a sliver, but it was enough to make out the two murky figures standing a ways ahead.

“You’re a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired.”

“ _"To ensure an enemy’s defeat, you must first undermine his allies.”_ It was the first lesson Gallus taught us.“

"You always were a quick study." 

"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive." 

_Wait…what?_

"Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way." 

"Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?”

“Enough of this mindless banter! Come, Karliah. It’s time for you and Gallus to become reunited!”

“I’m no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise you the next time we meet, it will be your undoing.” Her figure seemed to vanish on the spot. Chandler’s blood ran cold. What he’d just overheard went against everything he’d been told by the guild. They’d all thought Karliah was the traitor–that she had killed Gallus, but it had been Mercer all this time… And now said man was approaching him as he lay helpless, frozen on the ground. The slow, predatory crunch of Mercer's footsteps sent dread coursing through his veins, before they finally paused in front of him and fell silent.

“How interesting. It appears Gallus’s history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place.” The sneer in Mercer’s voice was unmistakable. Chandler tried with all his might to move; tried to will the poison of paralysis to leave his body so he could react, even to let the beast blood rage forth, but his body remained traitorously lifeless and unresponsive.

“But do you know what intrigues me the most?” Mercer continued, unconcerned. “The fact that this was all possible because of _you._ ” Chandler felt panic gripping him as he saw Mercer’s shadow raise up its arms, preparing to stab him. His frantic thoughts turned to Farkas and Sofie, and to his peaceful little home out in Falkreath; he couldn’t die–not now, he had to see Farkas again. They'd never find his body here, they'd never know what happened to him.

“Farewell. I’ll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards.”

_No…!_

There was a blur of movement. Pain bloomed in his side, and he felt the breath get robbed from his lungs. Something hot and wet spread quickly along his midsection as Mercer’s footsteps faded and his shadow melted into the growing darkness.

_Farkas…_

 

Wind was blowing in his ears; he felt the flutter of snowflakes landing on his face and immediately melting. His body still felt tingly and numb, but slowly he tried to flex his fingers and wanted to cry in relief when they reacted to his will.

Sluggishly he opened his eyes, and was met with the open skies of Skyrim.

He was alive…? But…how?

Movement to his left startled him, and he struggled to sit up, hoping he was in time to defend himself, only for a pair of hands to grip his shoulders and push him back.

“Easy, easy. Don’t get up so quickly. How are you feeling?”

He recognized the voice as Karliah’s, but this was the first time he was able to see her clearly. Young, Dunmer, slight of build with striking violet eyes.

“You…you shot me?” 

It was a stupid thing to blurt out, but his mind still felt slow and flighty. She sighed.

“No, I saved your life. My arrow was tipped with a unique, paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.“

Fair enough, Chandler supposed. He blinked slowly, still struggling to wake up and think clearly.

“But...why not just shoot Mercer with it?”

“That was my original intention," she admitted, "but I never had a clear shot. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death.” When Chandler only responded with confused silence, she continued on. “The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect. I only had enough for a single shot. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive. He must be brought to the Guild to answer for what he’s done. He needs to pay for Gallus’s murder.“

She went on to explain that she’d come here for Gallus’s journal, and while she had it, it was written in a language she didn’t recognize and it needed to be translated. Chandler was only able to focus enough to catch that she wanted him to take the journal to Winterhold, find Gallus’s old friend Enthir, and see if he could make sense of it.

Winterhold wasn’t far from here. He could see the college looming in the distance, but the chill of death was still clinging to him. When he parted ways with her, he hesitated, before heading south to Windhelm, and from there caught a carriage to Falkreath. It was a long couple of days, anxious and sleepless, before he finally reached the door to his home.

It was the wee hours of morning, and the place was silent. His house carl greeted him from where she’d been standing guard by the door, but even she kept her voice down to avoid waking the home’s other residence.

Feeling detached yet, Chandler ascended the stairs and headed into his bedroom. There he paused, and stared for a moment at the still, softly snoring mound that was Farkas, trying to reassure himself that this was real. Quietly he stripped himself of his armor, put on some light sleeping clothes, and carefully crawled under the covers.

Farkas stirred at the movement, opening his eyes for a moment and smiling when he realized Chandler had returned. “Hey; good to see you,” he rumbled, reaching to wrap an arm around the smaller male. Chandler responded by resting his head against the Nord’s broad chest, eagerly soaking in the warmth and steadiness of him. Farkas’ smile faded into a concerned look, and he tightened his grip slightly. “You’re shaking. What’s happened?”

”I…was betrayed,” Chandler murmured, his voice muffled. “I thought I was going to die. I just…needed to see you.”

Farkas ‘hmmm’ed quietly, content to lie there and hold him. “It’s over with, now. You’re home, and you’re safe.”

”It’s not over,” Chandler admitted softly. “He got away. I have to stop him before he harms anyone else.”

”Married or not, I’m still your shield brother,” Farkas reminded him softly. “Let me come with you. Watch your back. Rayya can keep an eye on Sofie while we’re gone.”

Chandler was quiet for a long moment, considering. “…I’d feel better, having you with me,” he admitted quietly. “It will be dangerous, though.”

“Life is dangerous,” the Nord rumbled, sounding unconcerned. 

Chandler managed a quiet huff of laughter at that. "True."

“Sleep," Farkas urged, and Chandler finally allowed himself to give in to the exhaustion.


	2. To see me like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been too long since Chandler has been home and Farkas is worried. [Dawnguard Questline]

_“I’m sorry, brother; we haven’t seen him.”_

Vilkas’ concerned voice was still echoing in his ears as Farkas made his way down the streets of Whiterun. His level of worry had only grown in the past few hours. Sure, Chandler was known to disappear from time to time; he had a knack for getting himself involved in all sorts of messes across the land of Skyrim, but it had been several months since he’d last laid eyes on the Altmer. No one in Whiterun seemed to recall having seen him anytime recently, either, and given the city’s central location, that did not bode well.

He’d left their little homestead out in Falkreath and had come here in hopes of news, but now he didn’t know where next to turn. These were dangerous times; had Chandler been killed and left to rot in some lonely cave, somewhere? Would there be anything left of him but bones by the time someone found him?

Farkas tried not to let the idea rob him of his breath.

He had to believe the other man was okay.

It was early in the day yet as he headed towards Whiterun’s gates; there was plenty of time to head for the next stronghold before day’s end. He would continue his search until all avenues were exhausted.

He couldn’t be sure why, but he paused as he walked past Breezehome and glanced at the door, noticing it had been left slightly ajar. The place had been bought some time ago, but remained untouched and decrepit looking. Why was the door open? Had the local children been getting up to mischief?

The hinges creaked as he pushed it open. Sunlight cast over the dusty wooden floor, and settled on the barren far wall.

All seemed quiet and still, but the place smelled lived in. He noticed boot tracks had been left in the dust, along with droplets of blood.

The blood was still wet.

He gripped the hilt of his sword as he crept deeper into the old house, all senses on high alert. Tattered drapes had been cast over the windows, leaving very little light to go by, but he didn’t need it.

He followed the trail into an empty side room, adorned with little more than a bedroll. There a figure stood against the far wall, peering defiantly at him from under the shadow of a hood. A misty bow was clutched in one of their hands, defensiveness radiating from their stance. 

But then they seemed to recognize him in the shadows, and the weapon dissipated.

“…F…Farkas…?”

The nord’s heart lodged into his throat. The bound bow had been familiar enough, but he’d recognize that voice anywhere, even when it was somewhat gravely from lack of use.

“Chandler!”

He hurried forward, reaching for the Altmer’s shoulders, and trying to catch a glimpse of his partner’s face. “There’s blood–are you hurt? Where have you been?”

The smaller man seemed to shrink a little under his grip. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, shocked and stammering at his husband's sudden appearance. “I…I didn’t want you to see me like this…”

“Like what?” Farkas pressed, still trying to spot where the blood was coming from, though the dark cloak and the shadows made it difficult.

There was a long pause, before Chandler’s arms rose to his hood, to reluctantly push the fabric back and reveal his face.

Even in the dark he looked gaunt and too pale, but the gasp that slipped out of Farkas had far more to do with the eerie red glow in his spouse’s eyes, and the glistening fangs just poking out from his lips.

“You…you’re…”

“I’m sorry,” Chandler whispered, his gaze dropping away in shame. “I…as soon as I managed to cure myself, I was going to come home, I swear.”

Farkas’ grip tightened on Chandler’s shoulders, his mind fighting through the initial shock, recognizing how deeply the anxiety had cut into his partner over the months. “I don’t care,” he finally said, firmly. “I’ll come with you. I’ll help you. But how did this happen? I thought we were immune to this.”

“Werewolves usually are,” Chandler reassured him. “But…not to a vampire lord.”

Farkas frowned. “Tell me what happened.” In the meantime, he’d finally found the source of the blood; a shallow wound on Chandler’s right upper arm that looked like it might have been from an arrow that got too close.

“I’d been hearing rumors that a group had been gathering to hunt vampires out near Riften, so I went to check it out. They sent me to check into a location the vampires had been showing interest in, and…well. I found out why.” He winced as the Nord tied a bandage tight over the bleeding cut on his arm. “There was a young woman–a vampire–that had been sealed away in that place for centuries, and I managed to free her. I…should have killed her and been done with it, but I couldn’t find it in myself to do it. She seemed confused, and wasn’t hostile. It was like she’d been dragged into something she really had no choice in and I empathized.” He sighed. “I…helped her get home. And her father thought it fitting to coerce me into their clan as way of thanks. He sees her and me both as little more than tools for his own ends.”

“You always did have a soft heart,” Farkas rumbled. “I’m just glad you’re alright. Sofie and I have been worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Chandler repeated. “I just…didn’t know what to do.”

But when the larger male wrapped his arms around him and drew him into a tight hug, Chandler couldn’t help melting into it. He’d missed his family. He’d missed the steady presence of Farkas. He’d been so scared over the other man’s reaction that he felt foolish now for not realizing that it wouldn’t matter; he’d been denying himself this love and warmth for no reason.

“We’ll set this straight,” Farkas promised him.

And Chandler believed him.


End file.
